


John's Apology

by Lovefushsia



Series: The Lying Detective (shorts) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, M/M, Properly, Sherlock is beautiful, alternate ending to TLD, apology, apparently I still have unresolved s4 issues, john comes to apologise, so do John and Sherlock!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovefushsia/pseuds/Lovefushsia
Summary: John comes to 221B after the awfulness in the hospital. He manages to get through an apology (which doesn't involve berating Sherlock over text messages or any other sh*t). Sherlock is forgiving and wonderful.





	John's Apology

**Author's Note:**

> I did make myself cry while writing this, so hopefully it will have the same affect on someone else now :D

"Sherlock, I want to talk... to you," John nodded, as if confirming this to himself as well as to Sherlock, who was watching from his chair. "Yes," he added, and planted his feet, hands on hips. He waited for a moment, Sherlock didn't speak, didn't appear to understand why John wasn't speaking. "Ah- right."

He strode across the room, confidently sitting down in the chair across from Sherlock. Not his chair. Not his Sherlock, couldn't even realistically call him his friend, not now. _Oh God._ His head was in his hands before he realised it and he heard Sherlock's voice.

"John, it's ok-"

John breathed in heavily through his nose, managed to look at Sherlock, met his eyes for the first time since he'd come into the room. "No, no it's not, it's not ok, don't let me get away with this."

Sherlock frowned a little, emphasising the stitches on his eyebrow, the pain in his eyes too acute and John wanted to cry for him. He reached out, too far away to touch, not worthy to do it anyhow. He gave a choked laugh and scrubbed at his face. _Pull it together man_.

He looked at his toes, couldn't quite drag his eyes to Sherlock's face again, words started to come out of dry lips and he cleared his throat.

"I can't begin to imagine what you think of me, I don't even recognise myself, from that day, I don't-" he faltered, drawing another sharp breath, he refused to spare himself a moment of tears. He wasn't here for Sherlock to pity him, he needed to get this said. "Sherlock," he whispered, and he came to a halt again. John looked up into eyes so soft and adoring, and how... how could Sherlock still look at him that way? After what John had said, what he had done?

He sighed, looked up to the ceiling and began again, far more trepidation than when he had started - because he wanted that look, but he didn't deserve that look. He didn't deserve this man or his friendship and he needed him. He couldn't get through another day without him.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and he wiped it away furiously.

"Fuck me, Sherlock, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to apologise enough for what I did to you, I didn't come here to beg for forgiveness because I don't know how you're dealing with what I did, and I don't want to set you back or make you feel worse, I just..." Another swipe across his eyes. "I'm sorry. I was so- _so_ wrong. I don't know how I could react that way with you- _you_ of all people." He stopped, the words were choking out of him again and he couldn't get through this but he had to try.

He slid off the seat and onto his knees on the floor at Sherlock's feet. They had sat here so many times together, talking, discussing case after case, silent knowing (or sometimes certainly unknowing) glances over a client, drinking, talking, just being together. But now-

"I've started therapy again, right away, I've had three sessions already, it's daily, until I can get my head together. I've stopped the drink, no more of that."

"Are you sleeping?" Sherlock murmured, and John was so shocked to hear the soft voice above him he looked up again into his face.

Sherlock smiled, just a brief raise of one corner of those lips.

"No, not at all," John admitted.

"You will," Sherlock told him, and John wanted to believe him.

Because the endless hours of the night were more of a torture to him than the dreadful waking hours of the day.

"I think about you, every night, I can't close my eyes, I just see you lying there-" he was sobbing now, chest rising and falling in staccato bursts as the tears rolled freely.

Sherlock put down his tea, as John wiped his eyes so at least he could see more clearly. He moved to the edge of his chair and John felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John, please don't do this to yourself. I can agree that your reaction was extreme, but what happened was nothing compared with losing your wife. You had to release that emotion somehow."

"Sherlock, I regret what I did every second of every day and it doesn't matter how often someone tells me I was under stress, there was no excuse for it. I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," Sherlock said gently. "I know John." He eased off the chair so he was sitting on the floor beside John, a little uncomfortably if his face was anything to go by. "I want you to forgive yourself."

John looked at him, blinking away the remaining tears. His therapist had told him the same thing. If he could forgive himself he had a better chance of recovering from this. But what about Sherlock? And that's why he was here of course. To apologise. To seek forgiveness. To see if there was any hope for them.

"John, I want to tell you something."

John nodded, completely at a loss and willing to listen to whatever Sherlock had to say.

"When I left, when I was away... I thought of you. Often. When it was time to return my only hope was to find you at Baker Street, waiting for me." He looked away to the dying embers in the fireplace. "Stupid," he laughed softly. "Why should you have waited for me?"

John's heart was thudding. What was he talking about?

"When I arrived back and found you with Mary, I- it took me some time to understand. But when I saw how happy she made you, how could I not be pleased? And yet, I believed I had let you down. By leaving I had created all that anger and you needed to release it. I believe that build up of anger culminated in what happened at the hospital."

"No, no Sherlock, not at all. I wasn't angry at you for leaving, not by that point," John told him definitively.

Sherlock was watching him closely, clearly hoping to take some of the blame onto himself, but John wouldn't have it.

"This is on me, this is all on me - I was upset with you because of the drugs, I was hurting because of what happened - I should _never_ have hurt you." He closed his eyes and saw Sherlock's bloodied and beaten body lying at his feet. The same image that was haunting him everywhere he went.

Seeing Sherlock here, seeing he was ok, getting better at least, it helped. A tiny amount, but it did help.

"John, what is it you want from me?"

John opened his eyes, trying to dislodge the feeling of imminent crushing doom that would occur if he left here and never returned.

"Whatever you can give me," he whispered.

"My forgiveness?" Sherlock asked, his head cocked to one side. "You have it."

"Oh God," John choked out. "Sherlock-"

Sherlock's hand was on his, clasping long fingers around his own and John was shaking, uncontrollably. He couldn't stop the chill running through his heart despite the marvellous sensation of Sherlock's skin on his.

"What else?" Sherlock asked softly.

"It's already too much," John gasped, but he did want more... so much more because he was greedy, he was ungrateful. "Please-"

A hand to his cheek, John closed his eyes again, sighing into the press of Sherlock's palm.

"I want you to move back here," Sherlock said, and that was something John never thought he would hear.

"What? Why?" he blurted.

Sherlock smiled. "Because I love you, and I want you to live with me again. I think it's the only way to try to get back to what we had, don't you?"

"Yes, oh fuck yes," John said, and finally there was a tone to his voice he hadn't heard in weeks - the smallest hint of happiness.

Sherlock was smiling now and his eyes were brighter than John had noticed before.

"Thank you for coming, John, I really appreciate it."

John shook his head sadly, so polite. A part of him wanted Sherlock to shout and scream at him and to lash out. That was the selfish part though, the part of John that thought a mirror of his behaviour would make it all a little easier to forgive.

Sherlock wasn't like that. Soft words, forgiveness, understanding where there was nothing to understand. That was Sherlock's way.

John would try with everything he had to be more like this man. Try to be someone worthy of his friendship. This man, built of strength and determination and love.


End file.
